


the unspoken language of touch

by crooked



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:51:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/pseuds/crooked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras' hands say more than even he realizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the unspoken language of touch

**Author's Note:**

> credit to [hipsterjolras](http://hipsterjolras.tumblr.com/post/60291921097/i-really-love-the-idea-that-enjolras-doesnt-even)' headcanon & the lovely additions [dancetaire](http://dancetaire.tumblr.com/post/60295182939/camelonajourney-hipsterjolras-dancetaire) made to it!

"So," Combeferre begins. Enjolras looks up from the other end of the sofa, laid out lengthwise across it with his laptop balanced on his stomach and his feet deposited in Combeferre's lap. Combeferre hasn't even looked up from his organic chemistry book. "What's going on with you and Grantaire?"

Enjolras gapes at him, slowly closing the laptop, his work completely forgotten. He sits up a bit, frowning. "Nothing. What... what do you mean?"

Combeferre's eyes are still on the pages before him. "I mean the way you're constantly touching him," he explains. "It doesn't look like nothing to me."

"I am _not_ constantly touching him!" Enjolras says. heat rising to his cheeks.

That makes Combeferre finally tear his gaze away from the textbook, fixing Enjolras with a look. "Yes, you are. It's subtle, and I don't think everybody has noticed it yet. But you haven't made it through a single meeting without touching him at least once in months." Combeferre closes his book and slides out from beneath Enjolras' feet, standing. "Ask Courfeyrac. Anyway, I've got to run to the library. I'll be back in a little while."

As Combeferre grabs his backpack and leaves the apartment, Enjolras is still frozen in place on the couch. _Ask Courfeyrac_? That means Combeferre and Courfeyrac have talked about this, have sat around and discussed the fact that Enjolras apparently touches Grantaire. A lot.

He doesn't. Does he?

Enjolras has never been accused of being an overly physical person. He's not like Courfeyrac that way, he isn't always draped all over one of their friends. He isn't Jehan, who often departs with soft kisses pressed to cheeks. Enjolras loves his friends dearly, and he doesn't mind bear hugs from Bahorel or any of the other little physical manifestations of their affection, but he just isn't the one to initiate it.

And then Grantaire happened.

From the moment he first started coming to meetings, there was some sort of a spark between them. But it wasnt the ridiculous rom-com sort of spark. It was a much more volatile spark, and theirs didn't result in sweet glances and soft blushes. Their spark came in the form of heated arguments, fierce ideological differences fueling them. Grantaire was impossible, still is, as far as Enjolras is concerned, but there is something about him that he's inexplicably drawn to.

The more he thinks about, the more he realizes that, shit, Combeferre is right. Enjolras can't even remember how it begins, perhaps with a hand clapped to Grantaire's shoulder or an arm around his waist to help steady him after a particularly heavy night of drinking. But he _does_ touch him a lot. A hand brushed across his shoulders as Enjolras passes behind Grantaire's chair. Fingers pressed lightly against his arm as he makes a point during an argument. Even something as simple as fishing a dried leaf out of his hair. There lately always seems to be some reason for Enjolras to be touching Grantaire. And if there isn't, he comes up with one. But he hadn't lied to Combeferre when he said there is nothing going on between them.

He just hadn't known until now how much he wants that nothing to develop into something.

\-----

Grantaire can't figure out why Enjolras stops touching him.

He hadn't yet figured out why he even _started_ touching him, but he wasn't about to question it. They fight constantly, more than they do anything else, and yet Enjolras never fails to throw Grantaire with a soft brush of fingers or some other out-of-place touch. He can't understand it and yet he absolutely lives for it. So he pretends it means nothing, he pretends he doesn't notice, like his heart doesn't hammer against his ribcage each and every time those fingertips touch his skin.

And then it's suddenly gone. Enjolras just... stops. Grantaire immediately notices, of course, because his days never felt complete unless Enjolras touched him, even in the most innocuous and fleeting of ways. The first time Enjolras passes by him without touching his shoulder or his arm or even the back of his chair, Grantaire feels the lack of contact like a blow to the stomach. He can't keep the confused look off his face as he glances up at the back of Enjolras' retreating head, wondering if he simply forgot that part of their strange routine.

But it isn't that one time. It's every time, now, and weeks go by without Enjolras touching Grantaire once. It hurts more than he'd ever admit out loud because how ridiculous of him to miss the touch of a man who otherwise seems to loathe him. Grantaire spends too many of his waking hours wondering just what he's done to make the touches stop. It's not as though things have gotten any worse between them. If anything, Grantaire has become more withdrawn during meetings, his entire body tense with anticipation for a touch that never comes. It's obvious he'd done something to fuck it up, though, because Enjolras avoids contact with him as if he's got the plague.

Three weeks into it, Grantaire reaches his breaking point. Enjolras is lingering after a meeting until he realizes Grantaire is the only one left with him. He mumbles some half-hearted farewell and tries to leave but Grantaire catches him at the door.

"What did I do?" he asks. His tone reveals far more hurt than he intends it to, but the words are out and Grantaire can't take them back.

Enjolras frowns, looking confused. "You... what? You haven't done anything," he says. "No more than usual."

Grantaire can't smile as he knows Enjolras wants him to. "So then why don't you touch me anymore?"

He's never seen Enjolras look as floored as he does now. The silence lingers for a few moments before Enjolras says, "I thought... I thought you wouldn't notice. You noticed?"

Grantaire blinks at Enjolras, and then he bursts into laughter. It probably isn't the most helpful response, but he can't help himself. Enjolras looks utterly lost and Grantaire only laughs harder, so hard that tears spring to his eyes. Enjolras is the most clueless man he's ever met, maybe on the face of the Earth. Enjolras' expression is just turning into something resembling annoyance when Grantaire wipes at his eyes, his laughter subsiding.

"Christ, Enjolras," he says, shaking his head. "Are you fucking serious? Of course I noticed." Grantaire's expression changes without him being entirely aware of it, and he looks almost sad when he adds, "It was the highlight of my day."

He's looking down so he misses the moment it happens, the moment realization dawns over Enjolras' face. He keeps his gaze trained on the ground, on his pair of beat-up Converse and Enjolras' worn, leather boots. Enjolras isn't saying anything and Grantaire is sure that's a bad sign. He doesn't want to see the look on his face. But then Grantaire sees Enjolras' hand come into view, held out to him as though he's meant to take it. He looks up with a puzzled expression.

"If you'll allow it," Enjolras says, softly, and though he's smiling, Grantaire swears he sees something like uncertainty in his blue eyes for the first time since he's met him.

Grantaire can't reply with words, not yet, because it's too much. So he just slips his hand into Enjolras' and doesn't let go.


End file.
